It’s too crass, too unfeeling, too rough to do justice for what my mom went through, even if it’s the simplest of truths.
Maybe it’s easiest to just say no one in my family has ever been to therapy.
I expect to see her eyes harden, the way they always did when this topic came up. Elise had never said how much she resented my family for coming between us in our marriage. She didn’t have to, I still knew. It was hurting her, but I couldn’t just take her side. Not when I knew turning feral could just as easily happen to one of my brothers. Or to me.
But there’s a softness almost like understanding in her face that makes me feel like I should just tell her everything. If only it were that easy.
I press on, gesturing to happier photos, further down the wall. “A little while after that, she got married.”
It’s not really important to the story that she married the same man her parents had been trying to set her sister up with. That a connection to a respectable werewolf family was more important than her feelings on the matter.
For a few more moments, we stand there, staring at the photos. She’s smiling in her town hall photo with her arm around my dad, but I’ve always thought she looked uneasy, the undercurrent of desperation one might not know to look for. So terrified that what happened to her sister would happen to her that she did whatever her parents wanted.
I sigh and shift my weight from one foot to another. I don’t know how I can make Elise understand the fears that were in play then, the same ones that have come back to haunt us now.
“Do you need a hand with that?” I gesture at the stack of plates probably growing heavy in Elise’s arms, raising a brow, maybe too abrupt a change in conversation. I don’t know howlong she’s been standing here, staring at my family photos, but we probably shouldn’t linger here too much longer.
She starts to shake her head, and then reconsiders and hands them over, wincing at each fragile noise they make as they shift against each other. “I thought I’d get these out of storage now and give them all a rinse, so they’ll be ready for the reception. Deanna said there were also some tablecloths up here. I was going to put them in the wash.”
“I can show you where we keep those.” I nod, taking the stack of plates and internally roll my eyes at myself. Really, I should be making a point of helping literally anyone else with anything else. But I can’t help the fact I just gravitate toward her.
I lead her down the hallway to the linen closet, opening the doors to show her the way it’s organized.
“There’s so much wedding prep left to do.” Elise sighs as she follows behind me. “I kinda feel bad. Logan could be having a grand wedding, extensively planned out. But everything feels so rushed right now. If we had more time, I could do more.”
“They wouldn’t push it back. I think his future in-laws are worried about him getting cold feet.”
“If he’s getting cold feet, that’s all the more reason to delay it. I’d hate for him to get married and then have to go through”—she dares a brief glance at me—“well, what we did.”
I feel like I’m supposed to agree with her, say something about how messy and painful divorces are, that we would know, how I hope my little brother never has to experience that.
But it feels disingenuous, and I can’t bring myself to say any of that. Not when I don’t regret any of it.
I hum back a non-answer. She’s painfully close to the way everything connects, but maybe too close to see how. That line of conversation dies as she continues down the hall, taking it in.
“I haven’t fully explored upstairs. I mean, I haven’t really been at the house much here except when Aiden and Laura want to have a movie marathon because Laura’s TV is really small—oh.”
She falls silent, and when I turn around, she’s not looking at the linen closet, but across from it.
The door still has a handful of stickers unevenly applied, spelling out my name on my old room.
She doesn’t pause or ask or anything, just puts her hand on the doorknob and steps inside, the hinges creaking as the door swings open.
I set the armful of plates down on a shelf in the linen closet and follow her.
Elise stands in the center of the room, slowly turning around, taking everything in. The faded blue walls, the little action figures lined up on the shelves, old clothes still folded in a laundry basket, never put away.
It hasn’t changed at all.
Nothing’s been touched, since I’ve been staying in a guest room downstairs. In a way it reminds me of how my dad’s office was left after he passed, the door simply closed, and everything left alone. It feels like a memorial to a much younger version of myself, someone who never left home and didn’t question his parents out loud.
I don’t even realize how lost I am in staring at all of it, pieces of myself I left behind without even thinking. The jar full of sharpie markers, a stack of VHS tapes, some still left out of their faded cardboard cases, a sheet of temporary tattoos half picked clean, a stack of CD cases, a number of them open and spread across the top of the dresser, because none of the disks were in the right case, and half of the plastic hinges were broken.
“This was your old bed?” Elise asks, and her voice pulls me from ten, twenty years ago. I blink and feel like I’ve been three separate people in my life, the person I was with my family, who I was when I was just with her, and the person I’ve been while alone.
I look up at her, the way she turns and sits down on the edge of it. “Yeah, Batman sheets and everything.”
“My god. I never knew what a dork you were,” she teases, wrinkling her nose with a smile in a way that breaks my heart all over again. I didn’t think we would ever have a moment like this, and now I don’t know what to do with it.
